


Awakened Somehow

by chaosandmemory



Series: Nose to the Wind [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU: Always a werewolf, Captain America: The First Avenger, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, Werewolf Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 22:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13580556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosandmemory/pseuds/chaosandmemory
Summary: Bucky can't believe Steve has rescued him from Zola.





	Awakened Somehow

After weeks of Zola's undivided attention, Bucky still can't quite believe Steve isn't a product of his delirious mind, a mouthy hallucination of what Steve might have been if he'd been born healthy. Red skulled Nazis and daring leaps over exploding factories don't make the rescue seem any more real. He even might have dreamed herding the newly freed prisoners into something resembling formation and the monotony of marching with one hand on a weapon.

They make camp as the sun is setting. The rowdy chaos has been tempered by a day of marching after weeks of captivity, but even those too injured to march on their own are still boisterous.

Bucky's skin crawls. He's no longer trapped by walls, but he is trapped by people, voices vibrating against his skin. He barely suppresses a twitch each time he sees someone moving out of the corner of his eye, and it's been getting worse as the day goes on. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes. He tethers himself on that background hum of Steve's worry and determination.

Maybe it's being trapped so long with the scents of pain and despair, but now that he is free scents are stronger and carry farther; he ignores the smell of the men surrounding them and focuses instead on himself and Steve. They both smell of char, of exertion. The stink of days unwashed. Steve's scent is both familiar and unfamiliar.

"You smell strange," he murmurs, too softly for the old Steve to hear. This oversized version, though, has the ears he should have been born with, and side eyes him.

"Strange bad?" There's something vulnerable in his expression, a hint of what sometimes peeked through the old Steve's shield of anger and righteous indignation.

"You're you. You're just." He wrinkles his nose, shaking his head. Steve doesn't smell different, but it's like his scent used to be made up of distinct layers with edges that faded in and out at different distances. Now the overlay of the layers is sharp and all the layers meld into one. But even changed, Steve smells of comfort and home. "Suppose you stink as bad as you ever did. There's just more of you to stink."

Bucky elbows Steve in the side and Steve smiles and ducks his head.

If he's dreaming, he doesn't want the dream to end.

***

Guarding their back-trail is a good enough excuse for privacy. From the way Falsworth grimaced in sympathy when Bucky volunteered himself and Steve for the detail, Bucky suspects he isn't the only one who was craving time away from the celebrations.

As soon as they are far enough away, Bucky grins at Steve. Out here, only the sounds of the night surrounding them, smiling is easier.

"All right, let me see it."

Steve's answering grin is crooked. He makes quick work of his clothes, leaving them in a heap at his feat. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and drops to all fours as fur sprouts and bones and joints and muscles rearrange, shifting faster than anyone Bucky has ever seen. Not even a minute later and Bucky is staring at Steve's wolf form for the first time. He's a big wolf, heavy in the chest and narrow through the hips. Blond fur covers his head and back, shading to brown in the legs. His ears are perked forward and his tail wags as he nearly bounces in place.

"Idiot," Bucky mutters fondly, reaching down to scratch behind Steve's ears. Steve leans into him and Bucky staggers. He tugs on Steve's ear. "Don't give me that innocent look," he says to the wide eyes and lolling tongue.

He leans over and plunges his hands into the thick fur of Steve's shoulders, resting his forehead against Steve's neck. After a moment he drops to his knees, wraps his arms around Steve, and lets himself shake. Steve stands steady, pressing his muzzle into Bucky's shoulder and pushing into the embrace. He whines softly as Bucky gets his fur wet, flooding _pack home safe_ through the pack bond in an endless loop. Bucky lets himself collapse into the comfort of it until the shaking ebbs and the solidity of Steve's presence almost, almost convinces him that he's not still on the table.

Bucky sits back, scrubbing his face with his hands.

He shucks off his clothes already breathing through his change, suddenly frantic to shed the human skin for the freedom of four feet, and pushes it as hard and fast as he can. The burn of reshaping himself fast is a familiar, welcome pain. Minutes later he shakes his fur back into place and nips at Steve's neck.

Steve shoulders Bucky, who stands steady despite the bulk ramming into him and huffs, unimpressed. Steve ducks his head and licks Bucky's muzzle, but his dancing eyes are unrepentant. Bucky snaps at Steve's ear and bounds off, turning after two strides to confirm that Steve is giving chase.

Getting chased by and giving chase to his best friend is the closest to Bucky's been to home since Brooklyn. He howls his joy into the night until his only concerns are the wind in his fur, his feet on the ground, and Steve by his side.  


**Author's Note:**

> At long last, trying to finish up some of my many, many unfinished stories.
> 
> On Tumblr at chaosandmemory


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